On the rolling Iowa prairies between the Cedar and Iowa Rivers,
Quaker Ridge was settled during the 1850's by Friends from New
England, Pennsylvania, Ohio, and Indiana. In time the little town
of Springdale, situated on the state highway, now known as the
Herbert Hoover Highway, emerged as the center of this Quaker
community extending through Cedar, Muscatine, and Linn
Counties.

In the concern of these Quakers over slavery, Springdale became
one of the chief stations on the Underground Railroad in Iowa. This
was not a railroad, nor was it underground. It was a route on which
lived people whose homes were stations or refuges for escaped
slaves and who as engineers and conductors helped the fugitives on
their way to the next station toward freedom. It was a source of
satisfaction to these Quakers that of the many fleeing slaves
reaching Springdale, every one reached Canada and freedom, so
carefully was the trip from Springdale mapped out.

I never tired of hearing the older people tell of their part in
those stirring years. Aunt Senie, a tiny person, who radiated
repose and serenity, had packed more lunches for escaped slaves, it
was said, than any other woman in Iowa.

Friend Laurie Tatum, keeper of Traveller's Rest in Springdale
and later guardian of the orphaned Herbert Hoover, as a conductor
of the Underground Railroad, carried by covered wagon many
fugitives across country about twenty-five miles to Mechanicsville.
So did Shannon Todd. It was Laurie Tatum, I think, whose wagon was
mired in the shifting sands of the Cedar River at Gray's Ford. The
combined efforts of himself and his team failed to get the wagon
free. The added strength of a stranger also failed to budge the
wagon.

"It can't be done," was the stranger's opinion. "The wagon will
have to be unloaded."

Friend Tatum answered in no uncertain terms that he was unable
to unload the wagon which must be pulled out for time was
pressing.

"What is in the wagon?" demanded the stranger. Not knowing
whether he was friend or foe, and being a truth-loving man, Friend
Tatum answered, "Hides and wool." His fate, for the Fugitive Slave
Law was in force, and the fate of the slaves seeking freedom hung
in the balance. In Friend Tatum's mind, aiding a slave might be
unlawful but slavery was a much greater sin.

This answer removed all hesitation on the stranger's part. With
renewed vigor and the aid of some rails from a nearby fence, the
wagon with its human freight was pried out of the sands and helped
on its way.

At another time Shannon Todd had reached Mechanicsville safely
with fleeing slaves. His freight was billed as potatoes. As he and
the freightmaster were loading the bags into the freight car, one
of the bags sneezed. To all appearances the freightmaster never
heard.

Anna Varney Phelps told of seeing a black mother and child
hiding behind barrels of potatoes and apples in the cellar, but she
had been trained to ask no questions, much less to answer any asked
by strangers.

Each time I heard these stories, I lived through breathless
suspense. For a few weeks a black boy attended Primary School with
me. All I can remember of him is his merry laugh and dancing eyes,
and that, embarrassed and shy, he sat in his seat chewing the toe
of his heavy boot. I had seen colored porters on trains and caught
glimpses of Uncle Tom Jenkins' visiting daughter as she hung
bedding on the line. However, Uncle Tom was the only colored person
among my friends. To me he stood for the whole oppressed black race
who had suffered through the cruelty of the white people. I had to
expiate those wrongs. Although I saw Uncle Tom probably every day
of my childhood, never did I lose my sense of wonder and awe.

Each year Uncle Tom would come to school with his black and tan
terrier, Dinah, to tell us children the story of his life. Each
child that day brought special things begged at home for him: a
glass of jelly, an apple, a warm muffler, or a gay kerchief. No
memory of my childhood is more vivid than that of this kindly old
man trying to make this group of primary children understand the
suffering of the mind of the slave even when there was no suffering
of body. Dinah, looking up in his master's face, would punctuate
the tale with whines, for his master was in distress and to Dinah
that was beyond canine endurance.

Uncle Tom's first memory was of hiding in the bushes and seeing
the foreman flog his father who was tied to a post. Taking refuge
with his mother, he begged to know why white people were masters
and the blacks were slaves. She hushed his cries and with tragic
earnestness tried to drive all hate and thought of revenge out of
her son's heart. They were slaves; acceptance of their lot was a
necessity; hatred, rebellion, thoughts of revenge only brought more
trouble and suffering, not only to themselves but to their loved
ones.

"Mammy," he said, "when I get to be a man I'll not be a slave.
I'm bound to run away and be a free man."

Sadly his mother answered, "My child, if you have such thoughts
as those never let anyone know it."

This was in Culpepper County, Missouri. After being forty years
a slave, Uncle Tom escaped. It was in the fall of the year. He
slept in the daytime and traveled at night, following the North
Star. Twice he ventured to approach a farmhouse to beg for food.
The first time the woman set the dogs on him, and it was difficult
to shake them off his trail. The second time the housewife invited
him into the kitchen, set a chair for him and went ostensibly for
food but in reality to call the men. Uncle Tom, sensing danger, ran
out just as the husband with a gun, accompanied by his son, came
around the corner of the house. The man shot several times before
Uncle Tom reached the shelter of a cornfield in which he eluded
them. After that he kept away from people.

How he found Springdale, I have often wondered. Only when he
reached the community where the women wore gray gowns and bonnets
and the men broad-brimmed hats did he dare show himself. Rumor,
traveling by grapevine in Missouri, had said there would he find
safety and be helped on his way.

He arrived late in the year, having had nothing to eat but the
raw field corn since leaving his master in Missouri three months
before. He had suffered much from the cold. His feet were frozen
and in such condition that his boots had to be cut off. Some time
was spent in recuperating. He worked as he could to pay for his
board and when fit to travel went on his way to Canada and
freedom.

It was after the war that Uncle Tom returned to Springdale to
live, buying the house just east of the schoolhouse. Of his family
I know nothing except that at intervals a daughter would come to
live with him. She so vigorously cleaned house and as vigorously
used her tongue that before long Uncle Tom would decide that he was
happier by himself and the daughter would leave until next
summoned. Except for these visits, Uncle Tom lived alone with his
cow, sometimes a calf, his chickens, ducks and Dinah. The house was
used in common by all. I cannot say that I ever saw the cow in the
house, but I have seen the calf in the kitchen drinking from a dish
placed on a chair. In the summer the door stood open and the fowls
and animals crossed the threshold at will.

On Sabbath, or First Day, Uncle Tom went to Quaker Meeting.
Dinah is the only dog I have seen attend divine worship, but
inseparable from his master, he would follow him into the pew and
never cause any disturbance beyond the excitement among the
children as he and Uncle Tom entered. Being prompt was not one of
Uncle Tom's virtues. Just as the minister (for by this time the
Friends in Springdale had grown progressive enough to have a
minister) reached sixthly, or perhaps lastly, when we children had
given up hoping for an end and were sure the clock had stopped,
Uncle Tom and Dinah would make their way to the empty pew nearest
the door. From our family pew we lost no detail of this entrance.
Uncle Tom was always a person of romance. We delighted in his
kindly face and picturesque figure in his silver gray suit, bright
bandanna, soft broad-brimmed gray hat, showing beneath it a fringe
of white hair. He never took off his hat in meeting except during a
prayer, not even in the long silence following the sermon.

At the time of the early Friends in England, to remove a hat in
the presence of others was an act of servility or, at least, a
recognition of inferiority. Believing that all men are equal in the
sight of God, the early Friend wore his hat in the presence of all
people, even the king and other high officials. He wore it in court
and in meeting, but he removed it when he prayed. It was definitely
Quakerly for Uncle Tom to wear his hat during the service and
symbolic of his recognized equality with his neighbors. Here no one
wished Uncle Tom to pay "hat honor."

When my mother had typhoid fever, every morning before breakfast
Uncle Tom, having walked a mile and a half to our home, known as
Evergreens, would appear at the kitchen door to inquire how the
"missus" was. Mother gave orders to the cook to invite him into the
kitchen for breakfast, but he refused even a cup of coffee.

On our way to town, we frequently found Uncle Tom out on the
"horseblock" watching for us. Would we stop on our return for a
basket of fruit, always ripe before ours?

One day he questioned Mother on how to raise ducks. This was a
surprising inquiry from one so successful. Sensing his seriousness,
Mother told him in great detail her understanding of the problem.
He asked many questions. Finally fully satisfied that Mother knew
how to care for ducks, he asked permission to present us children
with a duck and her newly hatched brood. The ducks thrived and
because of their unusually brilliant coloring were our delight.

The years accumulated for Uncle Tom. The time came when he could
no longer care for himself. Even now he could not live with his
daughter. He sold his tiny place and, with the proceeds and his
savings, went to the county farm as a paying guest. He was happy
there, living to a ripe old age, full of quiet dignity, a respected
and self-supporting member of the community. Once a year he would
receive an invitation to visit Uncle William for a week-end to
attend again our meeting where he would see all his friends.

In the Springdale Cemetery is his grave with the inscription on
the tombstone:

Thomas W. Jenkins
Called as a slave

Richard Lewis
Died Dec. 9,1902
Aged 83 years old

We Have No Use for Thy Guns

In October of 1856, John Brown came to Iowa City, Iowa, the home
of the Kansas National Committee for Iowa, to see William Penn
Clarke, Dr. Jesse Bowen, Colonel Samuel C. Trowbridge, Iowa City's
first sheriff, and other abolitionists, who from now on, could
always be depended upon to supply funds needed for forwarding
passengers on the Underground Railroad. This ran across Iowa with
stations at Tabor, Lewis, Des Moines, Grinnel, Iowa City, West
Liberty, Springdale, Tipton, Dewitt, and Clinton. Salem in
Southeastern Iowa was also an important station.

On this occasion he visited for the first time the Friends'
community, east of Iowa City. The story ran that weary and
travel-worn, John Brown stopped his mule in West Branch at Travel's
Rest, an inn kept by James Townsend, saying to his host, "Have you
ever heard of John Brown of Kansas?" Townsend, knowing Brown
through Iowa City abolitionists; took a piece of chalk from his
vest pocket and marked a large X on Brown's hat, another on his
back and a third on the flank of his mule to indicate that Brown
was to be a guest on the house. Then he said, "Friend, put thy
animal in that stable and walk into the house. Thee is surely
welcome."1

In the early winter of 1857-'58 again Brown was in Springdale.
With him were ten of his supporters and also some slaves whom they
were helping to freedom. Unsuccessfully an auction was held in an
attempt to sell off the wagons and teams, used for transporting
rifles and pikes from Tabor, Iowa. They had walked from Tabor in
twenty-five days, avoiding settlements on the way. My father has
described Brown's patriarchal appearance as he stood in the midst
of his company that day - slightly under six feet in height with
stooping shoulders, gray hair and long flowing beard of snowy
whiteness, in all appearances an old man, but one commanding
attention, confidence and respect. He never laughed.

The auction was a failure. Cash was scarce because of the panic
of 1857. William Maxson, a spiritualist, not a Quaker but long a
member of a train crew of the Underground Railroad, living in the
rather isolated North Liberty community, about three miles
northeast of Springdale, agreed to give board for the winter to
Brown and his men in exchange for his teams and wagons as might
seem just and fair - one and a half dollars a week for each man,
not including laundry and extra candles.

The Maxson house was an attractive one, built in 1839 on the
edge of the timber, on the site of the first white man's cabin
built on this side of the Cedar River. Constructed of stone, it was
overlaid with plaster and was quite palatial for these days. The
house, 24 x 38 feet with an annex 16 x 20, had five good-sized
rooms on the ground floor. Its walls were a foot thick, its laths
of split native oak. The floors were also of oak and the woodwork
was of black walnut. I remember the design of the molding and the
carved corners of the window frames, for my sense of fitness was
hurt when I saw trophy hunters tear off lovely pieces, leaving
great gaping holes.

Around the fireplace in the parlor, called "the great room,"
were held the councils and here plans were laid. Opening off this
room was a smaller room used by Brown as a bedroom and office. The
big living-room and long dining-room-kitchen were also given over
to Brown's men. A steep narrow stairs led to a garret where there
was just enough head room for a man to stand erect under the ridge
pole. This served as sleeping quarters for the ten men.

Maria Todd, later the wife of Elza Maxson, told me that she
lived with William and Delilah Maxson while Brown and his men were
there. She and the Maxson family shared the cellar with the fleeing
slaves that winter. It was a large cellar, underneath the whole
house, designed and used as a station on the Underground Railroad.
The open stairway came down from the dining-room-kitchen, dividing
the part under the main house into two large rooms, each of which
had its huge fireplace. Back of these rooms extended a dark area
never fully explored by me. The cooking was done over the
fireplaces.

Today the house is still spoken of as beautiful. "The big east
door with its dignified casement, the nice proportion of the house,
its unusual finish of gravel, not unlike modern stucco, give
occasion to wonder at the pioneer settlers who builded it." The
above was written after the old house had fallen into ruins and was
to be pulled down. Three architects were sent to make blue-prints
of the old building. These were to be deposited in the national
files in Washington, D. C.

In my childhood, the right-hand fireplace in the cellar had
fallen in, leaving a big jagged hole in the foundation. When
showing visitors this cellar we children anticipated the moment
when, stepping off the stairs, Mother would say, "This cellar was
considered one of the safest of all the stations of the Underground
Railroad." Not infrequently would come the expected question from
the guest who had taken a hurried look about, "Did the railroad
come in there?" pointing to the hole where was once a
fireplace.

We never missed a visit to the cellar and we were always at
Mother's elbow as she pointed out the strength of this refuge. Many
a time officers of the law, slave masters and bloodhounds were
confident that the fugitive slaves had been tracked to that cellar.
Never were they refused the admittance demanded; never was force
used to keep them from securing their quarry. But courageous as
these men undoubtedly were the desire of regaining possession of
the most valuable of slaves diminished as they stood in the
dining-room at the open door, staring down an open staircase with
the light streaming down from above. Below on either side stretched
the impenetrable darkness of the cellar. A fugitive slave was a
desperate man, protected by the darkness, while his would-be captor
faced the necessity of descending that stairway in full light, an
easy target. Although the slave's master sometimes lingered in the
community for a week or two, fortunately for the record of the
community, no attempt was ever made to enter that cellar.

The names of the men who made up John Brown's party became
household names in the homes of the Quakers. They were always
listed as follows: Brown's son, Owen Brown; Richard Realf, an
Englishman; John Henri Kagi, correspondent for the New York Post;
Aaron D. Stephens, known as Colonel Whipple; John Edwin Cook, later
a brother-in-law of the governor of Indiana; Luke F. Parsons, 22
years old and already a fighter seasoned in the Kansas Border War;
William H. Leeman, only eighteen; Charles Plummer Tidd; Charles
Moffat and a fugitive slave, Richard Richardson, from Lexington,
Missouri, who had joined them in southern Iowa.

These men became part of the community. They brought many new
interests. My father attended the mock legislature held twice a
week, Tuesdays and Thursdays, in the big west room of the Maxson
house and later, because of the crowds, in the brick schoolhouse,
which subsequently became the home of Moses Varney. This
legislature followed parliamentary law and proceeded with motions
and debates. From Father's account, I judge that all questions of
interest of the day were discussed: politics, slavery and warfare,
political and civil rights of the negro, college education and
civil rights of women, banking laws, prohibitory liquor laws,
mechanics, theology, spiritualism, and natural philosophy. The
Maxsons and Stephens were spiritualists. Brown kept his men
supplied with good reading, especially with biographies of great
men, beginning with Plutarch's Lives. Consequently they had a wide
range of interests, wider than that of Brown himself. He was a
crusader with one dominating idea. He talked only of religion and
the evils of slavery, and he was indeed a convincing debater.
Realf, Kagi, Cook, and Coppoc were brilliant in oratory.

Rising at five in the morning the boarders at Mr. Maxson's spent
the forenoons in military studies and drilling with wooden swords
or pikes and in maneuvering in the open space in front of the
house, led by Stephens who had had previous United States Army
experience. As a child I have trod the paths worn by these men in
their drilling, still distinct forty years afterwards in an
otherwise green lawn. I was awed by the fact that these men had
willingly given their lives, not in self-defense but deliberately
in order to help others gain freedom.

The evenings were given over to reading, writing letters,
studying shorthand, taught by Kagi, and debating.

The decision to winter here in Springdale was an excellent one
in John Brown's judgment, for this community was well known for its
concern against slavery and against war. It was several miles off
the railroad and far from Harper's Ferry and Virginia.

Coming into the community with escaping slaves who needed help,
John Brown and the Quakers met as co-workers in a common cause to
which they were completely and devotedly dedicated. Without reserve
they applied themselves to hiding the fugitives and finding means
of passing on these "packages" to safety and to Canada. There would
be time for the Quakers to consider John Brown later.

In a matter of days after the establishment of Brown's men at
Maxsons, suspicions were aroused as word spread of maneuvers and
military drill on the lawn in front of the Maxson house. The
Quakers knew of the Kansas Border War and the Potawotomie massacre.
Their disapproval was shown by the Quaker who said to Brown, "Thou
art welcome to tarry among us but we have no use for thy guns." The
Quakers stood ready to work with Brown in aiding fugitive slaves,
but no sanction would they give to any plan of violence.

When the Quakers came to know John Brown they found him as
trustworthy, honest, and God-fearing as had their friends on the
Kansas National Committee for Iowa. They responded as did Thoreau
and Sanborn in Concord, Gerrit Smith in New York, T. W. Higginson,
George L. Steams, Theodore Parker of New England and other
abolitionists. Brown was a man who inspired confidence. Such was my
father's first impression of him.

Historians have said that "from 1850 on, he (Brown) talked
constantly and openly of carrying the war into Africa," but in
Springdale he was discreetly silent. Elza Maxson, who went East in
1859, when summoned by Brown, emphasized to me Brown's
determination to avoid war or do any harm to any one except those
opposing him when he was working to free the slaves. Brown stated
that he would have nothing "to do with any war, unless it was a war
of liberty."

Well liked, Brown's men were welcome guests for an evening in
the homes of the community. Aaron Stephens, Brown's drillmaster,
was a frequent visitor at the home of Moses Varney. His daughter,
Anna Varney Phelps, would tell of sitting on Stephens' knee while,
with tears rolling down his cheeks, he would sing in his beautiful
tenor, "Will they miss me at home, Mother? Will they miss me?"

Narcissa Macy Smith stated that Brown's character was
irreproachable. He was an ardent prohibitionist; neither did he use
tobacco, nor strong and profane language. "As a man thinketh, so is
he," she quoted from Proverbs.

Henry D. Thoreau in A Plea for Captain John Brown writes that he
himself had heard him (Brown) state that "In his camp, he permitted
no profanity; no man of loose morals was suffered to remain there,
unless, indeed, as a prisoner of war. 'I would rather have
small-pox, yellow fever, and cholera all together than a man
without principles!' "

Father, a consistent non-resistant, expressed his faith in and
high regard for Brown as a man, telling of the path worn by his
feet as he, when at the Maxson home, went without fail morning and
evening to pray, to communicate with God and to meditate alone. The
Quaker receives strength by withdrawing as in silence and solitude
one comes close to God. So did John Brown. He had the love which
casts out fear.

Only when visitors questioned did we of my generation hear of
Brown, the avenger, smiting the enemies of slavery in Kansas. The
emphasis was on the common concern to forward the freedom of the
slaves and their confidence in Brown as a man of integrity,
kindliness, sincerity, and spirituality.

Some would question: "Did not the Quakers "wink" at the military
drill and Brown's plans, giving aid on the side?" To this Mother's
answer was an emphatic "No." The "Meeting" were united in their
testimony for peace, she would say, in their efforts to free the
slaves and in their disapproval of the use of force by Brown. They
spoke their minds frankly and forcefully at every opportunity
without avail.

Yet, Mother would continue, when John Brown stated that he felt
he was called by the Almighty God to deliver the nation from
Slavery) and that his mission was "divinely appointed", the Friends
could not doubt him. With their belief in "The Inner Light" and
"that of God in everyman" the Quakers expect one's conduct to be in
agreement with the inner revelation. The individual must assume
full responsibility for his spiritual decisions. Hence they
responded to John Brown with an unwillingness to judge him or to
set themselves up against him. As Brown walked among them, they
shared the burden on his soul, the great weight of the shackles of
the thousands of men in bondage.

It is one of the striking inconsistencies of human nature that
the Quakers, strongly non-resistant themselves, loved this man
whose dedication to the cause of freedom and whose hatred of
slavery had led him mistakenly, in their opinion, down the path of
violence. Although they could not agree with his methods and
thought his judgment faulty, such was his character, commanding
their confidence, esteem and affection, that he and his men
wintered unmolested in their midst, making preparations, the goal
unknown to the Quakers, for his memorable raid on Harper's
Ferry.

John Painter, later the founder of Pasadena, California, the
only Quaker known to have had knowledge of Brown's plan at this
time, labored in vain to dissuade him. However, Father would remind
us that the Quakers were not alone in this trust in Brown, for
Parker, Higginson, Steams, and Gerrit Smith sent him funds not
knowing that they were to be used to attack the arsenal at Harper's
Ferry.

For only short intervals was Brown himself at Maxson's during
the winter. It is said that, before leaving his followers, in
January, 1858, to raise money in the East, he disclosed to some of
them his plans in more detail and for the first time Harper's Ferry
was mentioned. In the community only Maxson and Painter knew what
was afoot.

By April Brown returned with funds and gave orders for the
expedition to start. By now Moses Varney may have known something
of the plans. Each of his men wrote his name on the plaster wall of
the "great room" of the Maxson house. In my childhood, the pencil
marks had grown so faint that no full name could be traced out by
my searching finger.

When Brown talked to Thomas James for the last time, James said,
"Thee must be careful or thee will get a rope around thy neck."

To this Brown answered, "Yes, I expect it."

John Painter said, "Friend, I can't give thee money to buy
powder and lead but here's $20. toward thy expenses."

The men went from house to house to say "Farewell". In the crowd
which gathered to see them off, there were few dry eyes.

Nearly a year had passed before John Brown came again to
Springdale. All were surprised when, 1859, Feb. 25, he appeared
with some of his men and eleven or twelve slaves from Missouri. He
had taken them safely through part of Kansas and across Iowa while
the agents of the Fugitive Slave Law endeavored to capture Brown
and the caravan. The government was offering $250. for his capture
and the state of Kansas was offering $3,000.

Quickly the Friends found secure hiding places for the slaves.
On March 10, the negroes traveled by box-car from West Liberty to
Chicago. To pay their expenses a public sale had been held to
auction off the mules and wagons, all of which had probably been
commandeered.

It is told that when a mule was offered for sale, Brown stepped
forward saying, "Gentlemen, the mule is all right but there is a
slight defect in title."

Another story tells of John Painter saying, "Friend Brown, I
understand that thee wishes to sell thy mules and I wish to buy
one."

"The mules are all right," replied Brown, "only for one thing
and that is they have the habit of occasionally kicking. I think
they should bring only one hundred dollars."

"Very well," agreed Painter, "I will pay one hundred dollars for
this mule and I donate twenty-five dollars to the expenses of the
expedition."

After the sale Brown did not linger but hurried on to Chicago
and Canada.

This was not a quiet interval in that usually serene Quaker
community. It would have been a severe test to that non- resistant
Society if a rumored attempt to arrest John Brown and capture the
caravan had materialized. Great was the relief when the fugitives
were on their way safely.

As the summer of 1859 advanced, here and there a boy in the
community went on a trip to Ohio ostensibly to visit relatives.

Elza Maxson had planned to be with Brown at the critical time
but, due to the uncertainty of dates, news of the attack reached
him as he was on his way to the East. He was too late to have any
part in it. Even in his old age, in talking with me, he showed the
same firm belief in and high regard for John Brown. The attack had
been a mistake. Fate had stepped in and prevented him from
personally having a part in that chapter of history. Gladly would
he have given his life for the cause. It was with resignation that
he accepted his escape from the gallows at Harper's Ferry. Fate had
willed it so. A Friend would have said that God had willed it
so.

The two Coppoc boys, Edwin and Barclay, received summons to meet
Brown at Chambersburg, Pennsylvania, at the earliest possible
moment.

After their departure, the days drowsed through the summer in
Springdale. The quietness of autumn was broken by the startling and
terrible news of Brown's attack on Harper's Ferry - news which
brought grief, sleeplessness and deep soul searching in the long
night watches.

All the world knows of the raid on Harper's Ferry. If Brown had
been killed during the attack, he would have been forgotten by now,
I have heard Mother say. But his greatness came upon him in his
prison days in Charlestown, Virginia, later to be included in West
Virginia, when, during the war, that state was formed. Brown
acknowledged his mistakes. He fought the plea of insanity put
forward by well-meaning friends. When Samuel C. Pomeroy, long
identified with the anti-slavery movement, later a senator from
Kansas, told him that friends wished to plan an escape, Brown
refused the help saying, "I am worth infinitely more to the cause
to die than to live."

"God's Angry Man" he has been called by those who regarded him
as a man filled with the wrath of God, willing to smite the enemies
of the Lord with the sword and to break in pieces the oppressor and
destroy the wicked as would a Hebrew prophet in the Old Testament.
However, he is remembered as one who, on his last night on earth,
asked that his religious attendants at his execution should be
"poor little bareheaded, barelegged, ragged slave children and
their old gray-haired slave mother." Instead guards and soldiers
met him on the porch that Dec. 2, 1859.

As he saw the streets filled with armed soldiers, he commented,
"I had no idea that Governor Wise considered my execution so
important."

Riding to the gallows, seated on his own coffin, he said, "This
is a very beautiful country. I never had the pleasure of seeing it
before."

There was no flinching as he stood on the scaffold. A second
later his body hung between heaven and earth and his soul was
marching on.

As the Quakers in Springdale learned the sequence of events and
realized the full significance of the fact that Brown and his men
had drilled and prepared and planned for the attack on Harper's
Ferry in their midst, they made haste to restate their testimony
for peace. Three weeks after the raid, at the Monthly Meeting "a
large and representative committee" was appointed to investigate
the report that there "appears to be an impression abroad that the
Friends in this neighborhood have improperly encouraged a war
spirit." Joel Bean, Henry Rowntree, Israel Negus, Laurie Tatum,
James Schooley, and Samuel Macy were among those who served on this
committee. They reported to the Monthly Meeting, December 7,
1859:

We have endeavored to consider the subject confided to us in all
its bearings and are united in the conclusion, that any publication
(in the way of defense) on the part of the Mo Mee (Monthly Meeting)
is unnecessary . . . . we believe our principals [sic] of peace
were never dearer to most of our members than now.

However this did not close the chapter for the Springdale
Community, for Edwin Coppoc faced execution for treason and Barclay
was a fugitive in the mountains of Pennsylvania.

Wayward Tendencies

In mid-summer, July 25, 1859, in the large, square, frame,
farmhouse on the eastern outskirts of the small town of Springdale
in Cedar County, Iowa, Barclay Coppoe told his mother that he and
his brother, Edwin, were starting for Ohio.

It was his Quaker mother, Ann Coppoe Raley, a woman of rare
intelligence, a strong abolitionist, who had taught her sons their
hatred of slavery. Many a slave had been harbored in their
home.

However both boys had developed "wayward tendencies", disturbing
to their mother and the "meeting". Edwin took up dancing. The
Monthly Meeting dealt with him in the "spirit of restoring love."
As Edwin did not condemn his actions he was disowned by the
meeting. There is also an entry in the minutes of the Monthly
Meeting that Barclay Coppoc had used strong language and struck a
man in anger. Barclay gave the "meeting" satisfaction and the
complaint was "passed by". Now both brothers had a concern.
Following the prompting of the "Inner Light" they threw themselves
into the struggle against slavery with John Brown whom they went to
meet in Chambersburg, Pennsylvania. They were the only Friends who
were summoned and Edwin had been "put out of the meeting".

In October of 1859 John Brown gathered his men at the Kennedy
Farm in Maryland five miles above Harper's Ferry preparing for his
raid on the arsenal in order to obtain arms. "There were six or
seven men in Brown's party who . . . were ignorant of the plan of
operation until Sunday morning, October 16. Among this number were
Edwin and Barclay Coppoc," stated John E. Cook in his confessions
made in prison.

About eight o'clock that evening Brown called his men together,
saying, "Men, get on your arms. We will proceed to the Ferry."

Early the next morning they heard firing in the valley which
increased sometime after noon. Late in the day, arming themselves
well with rifles, they started down toward the Ferry. Soon they met
Charles Plummer Tidd and later John E. Cook through whom they
learned that Brown's Band was completely surrounded and nothing
could be done to help them. As lingering in the neighborhood would
surely cost them their lives, the only course left them was flight
into the mountains. Traveling by night only, hunted by men and
dogs, they made their way through an alerted countryside, often
having only the hard mature corn from the fields for food.

Edwin Coppoc, the only white man unwounded in the attack, was
taken prisoner with John Brown. A newspaper reporter, astonished at
his youth and honest face, exclaimed, "What are you doing in this
place?"

Governor Wise, also impressed by the boy, said, "You look like
too honest a man to be found in this band of robbers."

"But Governor, we look upon you as the robbers." answered
Coppoc.

Nine days later he was brought before the court chained to John
Brown. The day after Brown's sentence, his trial ended with the
verdict that he was to be hanged on December 16.

Asked if he had anything to say to the court, he stated that the
charges of treason against the State of Virginia were not true for
he had never made war upon it. He had never conspired to overthrow
the government of the state. The purpose of the band was to run off
slaves to a free state and liberate them. This is against your laws
but he had never committed murder. When attacked in the engine
house, there was no way out but to fight a little. If anyone was
killed there it was a fair fight. He had killed no one. He had
broken Virginia's laws, but the punishment for his offence should
be very different from the verdict given.

During his imprisonment he wrote to his mother that all had
turned out differently from expectations. He had seen his folly too
late. He would try to meet death as every man should. though it
would have been a great comfort to die at home. He regretted that
he had had no other choice than to fight. A Quaker at heart, he was
sorry that he had ever raised a gun.

Hundreds came to see him in prison and many exhibited sympathy.
He was spoken of as an exemplary prisoner. As he had killed no one,
Governor Wise made a fruitless recommendation for a commutation of
sentence to life imprisonment.

An escape was attempted by Coppoc and Cook who had been captured
when he left the party in the mountains to buy food. With knives
they cut a hole in the wall which their bed covered. By notching
their knives, they made a saw, with which they hacked through their
chains. The night before their execution they dropped 15 feet to
the courtyard and mounted the wall. As the guard on the wall, whom
they hoped to find friendly. threatened to bayonet them, they had
no other choice than to walk back to deliver themselves to the
astonished jailer.

Twelve hours of life remained. Thomas Winn, the postmaster at
Springdale, was with Edwin until the last but he could not watch
the execution. Contrary to plan, Coppoc's body was not taken back
to Iowa but was buried in the Friend's Burying Ground at Winona,
Columbiana County, in Ohio, taken up and buried again, twelve feet
down with tons of rock above it for protection, in the Hope Burying
Ground in his birthplace, Salem, Ohio.

The day of the execution was a day of sorrow for all Springdale.
Mary Ann Montgomery was sent to spend part of the terrible day with
the grieving mother. Ann Coppoc Raley greeted her with, "I'm glad
thou art come. Edwin was hanged at one o'clock today."

After a time she went back to Ohio to visit the grave of her
son. While there she wrote her sister, who had lost a son as he
attempted to aid fugitive slaves from Missouri: "On thinking the
matter over, I see that there might be a sorrow even greater than
ours. Yes, if our sons had gone into some horse- theft, murder, or
robbery, and had been shot or slain in the enterprise, it would
have been countless times worse, but going against our will, still
the motive for it has to be looked at. They went to liberate their
fellowmen, not for their own advantage."

Elza Maxson has shown me an ambrotype of himself which he had
given to Edwin Coppoc. Twenty years after his death, Elza found
this ambrotype in the deserted Coppoc house. Taking it from its
case he found a message which must have been written in prison:
"Dear Elza, farewell," signed Edwin Coppoc. A likeness of Edwin
stood on a little stand in our library at Evergreens beside a
likeness of George Fox, the Quaker saint and founder. Edwin was
almost a relative for my aunt by marriage was his younger half
sister.

For many weeks Barclay Coppoc was a fugitive with bloodhounds
and officers of the law at his heels. Not until the day after
Edwin's execution did he, gaunt and thin as a skeleton, arrive at
his Springdale home.

Several young men in the neighborhood united to form a
twenty-four hour a day guard for Barclay. In addition Elza Maxson
lived with him and became his shadow. It was his duty, he said, to
greet all visitors that came to the house and, if necessary, give
Barclay opportunity for hiding. A carriage would drive up to the
gate or a stranger would come on horseback. Elza would go out to
meet the guest. As the whole country was aflame with excitement
over the Harper's Ferry raid, many came hunting the man who had
escaped. Some were self-appointed searchers. Since they had no
papers, they could, with firmness, wisdom and tact, be induced to
depart. Others had been properly appointed by the government of
Virginia but did not have extradition papers. These also could be
tactfully disposed of, particularly as more than one officer of the
law went through the form of demanding Coppoc and the right to
search, but was at heart glad to report back to their Virginia
superiors that the task, distasteful to them and having no legal
authority, had been executed without success. Barclay now went
heavily armed. In this crisis the overseers of the Friends
Preparative Meeting called on him as action on their part seemed
necessary. On January 10, of 1860, the report was made to the
Monthly Meeting that "Barclay Coppoc had neglected attendance of
our religious meetings and is in the practice of carrying arms." As
he refused to heed the "spirit of restoring love" he was separated
from the meeting.

One day in January, 1860, there came to Governor Kirkwood's
office in Des Moines, by now the capital of Iowa, a Mr. Camp from
Virginia, who demanded extradition papers for Barclay Coppoc. When
General Ed Wright, then representing Cedar County in the
Legislature, on this day entered the Governor's office with
Representative Galbraith, the Governor attempted to drop the
discussion in their presence. However they heard the pompous,
gruff, self-important Virginian retort, "I don't give a ------. You
have refused to honor the requisition." Wright and Galbraith
withdrew immediately. Within two hours a swift horseman was on his
165 mile ride to Springdale carrying a warning to Coppoc that Iowa
was no longer a safe refuge.

The requisition papers were found by Governor Kirkwood to be
faulty in four details. Until these could be rectified no
extradition papers could be issued. While waiting for corrected
papers from Virginia, Mr. Camp prudently lingered in Muscatine, a
Mississippi River town to the east. During this time Coppoc could
not be persuaded to flee.

However when the proper papers were known to have been honored
by Governor Kirkwood, John Painter drove Barclay Coppoc, disguised
with a false beard, accompanied by Thaddeus Maxson, brother of
Elza, through a furious snowstorm twenty-five miles to
Mechanicsville to catch a train for Chicago. There they made their
way through a raging blizzard to the home of a negro who collected
funds from other negroes in the city for Coppoc's flight. When Mr.
Camp arrived in Springdale with the proper papers and the sheriff,
their quarry had flown.

From now on Coppoc returned home for only hasty visits. He was
forever on the move, never knowing security again. At the outbreak
of the war, he enlisted in the Union Army and served as First
Lieutenant in the 3rd Kansas Infantry. With the authorization of
his superior officer, he returned to Springdale where he secured
eleven recruits. The train carrying these young men to Kansas was
wrecked by the burning of the supports of the bridge, 80 feet high,
over the Platte River. Barclay Coppoc was among the dead.

There were those who rejoiced over his death. There were those
who announced that it was only because Coppoc was a passenger that
the train had been wrecked. When the news reached Springdale, the
questions were at once asked: How did anyone in the South know that
Coppoc was on that train? Was there an informer in their midst?

Mr. Maxson had a new neighbor, a stranger in the community. A
Southerner? Perhaps. No one knew. Mr. Crew, another neighbor,
coming home from the village met the newcomer. I have heard his
daughter tell that he reined in his horse with the greeting,
"Neighbor, I know nothing about you before you moved into our
neighborhood. I do not wish to imply anything. I have no opinion
whatsoever. But there has been a gathering of men in town
discussing the fate of Barclay Coppoc. They suspect that some one
in our midst gave information leading to the wrecking of that
train. Suspicion has settled on you. They are coming out this way
in a body. If you are innocent, all is well. If not, there is
trouble ahead." Without a word the newcomer turned his horse about
and rode away - out of the community, never even sending a message
to his family.

Notes

1 Many of the older Friends in the community used the Quaker
"thou" in my childhood. Others used the "thee" of the Quaker
vernacular which later came into general use as the subject as well
as the object of a verb. Both are used as they were used in the
stories.